You're a Mean One, Mrs Grinch
by dreamlitnight
Summary: A little one shot. Dean is ill, Sam takes charge, and there is a mean, older woman giving them grief. Mostly, just the usual.


_**Disclaimer: The Winchesters are no-ot mine!**_

_**A/N: Just a little one shot, written for a prompt over at hoodietime. Dean is ill and Sam takes charge. Watch out for lurking typos, as always. **_

_**The Prompt: Dean's got a nasty earache, and while he and Sam are interviewing someone, he kinda totally looses his balance and knocks over their christmas tree. Oops! The interviewee can either be sweet and forgiving, or perhaps grouchy and mean, so that Sam will have to step in and defend his sick, helpless brother. (Bonus points if Dean cuts his hand on a broken ornament)**_

**"You're a Mean One Mrs. Grinch"**

Dean tried to concentrate on the conversation going on next to him. Sam seemed to be doing a pretty poor job of getting the witness, an older woman who had recently lost her husband, to answer his questions. She was the epitome of a grumpy old lady and her husband was probably happier being away from her no matter where he had ended up. She kept glancing over at Dean and frowning, like he was irritating her just by breathing. Dean kept giving her his "I could care less" smile, which seemed to make her frowns a little more angry each time. But Dean meant the smiles. He could care less. He just wanted out of this place. Everything sounded like it was muffled, almost like Dean was under water. He was bordering on miserable. Reaching up to rub at one of his aching ears, Dean grimaced at the heat radiating from it.

Sam caught the movement and turned in the middle of speaking and gave Dean a look, quickly assessing the situation. His mouth pursed, like it always did when he was upset with Dean. Dean hated that look. It wasn't his fault he couldn't hear well enough to participate in the Q and A. Not to mention that Dean never knew ears could hurt this much. On top of that his jaw throbbed, his head felt like it was in a vice, which sad to say, he actually knew what having his head in a vice felt like, and every time he turned his head or even just looked in a different direction, only moving his eyes, he felt like he was on a merry-go -round. But Sam didn't need to know all that, he probably just thought Dean was being a jerk. Sam seemed to hold that opinion a lot lately.

Closing his eyes, just for a second, Dean tried to pull himself together. The flashing lights on Mrs. Scrooge's Christmas tree were not helping. Dean was sure those colorful lights were nice and the twinkling part was awesome, but today it felt like each twinkle was a sharp stab in his head. Even closing his eyes did not alleviate the problem, he could still see the flashing colors behind tightly squinched eyelids.

A hand firmly patting his knee, made him startle and caused the merry-go-round to take off full tilt. He heard Sam saying something about it being "'ime 'oo mow", which Dean's poor brain finally translated as "time to go". And yeah that sounded good, maybe a handful of pain pills and a nice dark room too... a strong arm suddenly grasped him around his back pulling him a little roughly to his feet which was all well and good, because Dean wasn't making much progress on his own and he would like to get away from those freaking lights, but the strong arm released him before the twirling feeling had tapered off and suddenly those lights were getting nearer, right in his face and then he was being poked with prickly branches and then he went away for a few seconds.

When he came back there was a shrill voice spouting out curses Dean had never even heard before. He was a little impressed with some of the combinations. He really hoped he could remember a few of them. But then there was something like a pillow, a very firm pillow, smacking him repeatedly in the face and then right against his aching ears and he howled as it all at once felt as if his head might just explode; like an over full water balloon or a stick of dynamite, which would be kind of cool... then a deep voice bellowed something about _leaving his brother alone_ and the smacking stopped but then the screaming started up... and, _wow!_ Dean wanted out of there, yesterday. He wallowed around, attempting to get upright, but only succeeded in causing pain in other parts of his poor body. Rough branches scratched and poked him and then something sharp pushed against his hand and it stung. Dean noticed that the lights were finally gone. He gave up and just laid there.

Everything was sort of muddled after that. Hands grabbed him and pulled him up too fast again, and fireworks were going off in his head and he heard a low keening noise . He really wanted it to stop, but it just kept going and then he was pulled along, arm around his waist and low on his back and a cold wind was blowing in his aching face and his ears... _His Ears!_ The keening sound got louder, competing with the howling wind. After an eternity he was settled, gently this time, against something familiar. A heavy door was eased shut and blessed silence descended. Another door was opened, the car jiggled as Dean assumed Sammy was getting into the Impala, a door was shut and then a heavy sigh was heard.

Dean ignored it, holding both hands tightly to both of his throbbing ears. He could feel something warm dripping from one of his hands onto his neck, but he ignored that too and just curled into himself, trying not to moan as the pain went on and on. Waves of heat and agony battering his head...

The next thing he knew he was snuggled under heavy blankets and the horrible pain had dulled to a manageable ache again. There were wonderfully warm heat packs propped against his ears, a thick pad of bright, white gauze adorning one palm and he could see Sam nearby as he sat hunched over his laptop. The steady tapping, as he searched for answers that Dean knew deep down Sam would never find, acted like a lullaby none the less, providing the illusion of safety and it lulled Dean gently back to sleep.

_**~The End. Thank you for reading and reviewing, if you're so inclined.**_


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